


To The Strike (Ending)

by ForDavey



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, pretty much a small drabble I wrote out of boredom, race doesn't really either, spot doesn't know romantic feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 11:17:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11827626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForDavey/pseuds/ForDavey
Summary: Spot and Race share a moment together on the Brooklyn Bridge during the aftermath of the strike ending. The two reveal much more than either of them anticipated, but they couldn't be happier they did.





	To The Strike (Ending)

**Author's Note:**

> I got bored earlier today and started a small drabble of Spot and Race, I found it tonight and decided to finish it, haha.

Spot shifted on the wood of the bridge, unable to get the past events out of his mind. Yeah, the strike had ended. That had been great, and almost everyone was celebrating.

His own boys were throwing a small party back at the lodging house with some of the Manhattan boys, although most of them wanted to stay back and see Crutchie.

He couldn't forget the utter chaos that had been the last few days. When Racetrack, Specs, and a new kid came to him with the news he didn't hesitate to decline their invitation to join the strike.

Because that very week had been the week where headlines weren't good enough to sell. Sure, they could try and make them up every so often, but that wasn't working. The Trolley Strike was old news. Old news that was causing him and his boys to starve, more than the usual.

Every evening at least one newsie was either whining or complaining about it. Spot and Sling even had to comfort the younger ones when they cried about wanting a meal. And the only sounds at night to accompany the crickets was snoring and growling stomachs.

Spot couldn't risk the low income of money and reduce it to none. Brooklyn needed food more than ever, and a strike meant not getting that. Spot had also pondered on how they would get through the day without selling papes, it was all newsies were meant for anyway.

-

So of course, when Race had come to him a second time, shivering in the cold night air and holding tears from falling down his face, Spot wanted only to comfort him. He could remember his tough facade falling as he brought the taller boy into a hug. Race had closed his eyes and held him closer.

"They took Crutchie." He sniffed.

Spot was overcome with surprise, and not in a pleasant way. Now, he had only spoken to Crutchie once or twice, and mainly just about headlines and over betting during card games. But he held tremendous respect for the newsboy with a crutch. He traveled miles a day if he had to, all to simply sell papes, and never complained once about his aching leg. Even Spot would utter a curse or two and he had perfectly functional legs.

And nobody should ever take advantage of someone using their disability. Crutchie had become one of the bravest newsies he knew when Race had informed him. Something told Spot that Crutchie would be fine, but he wanted to be a part of the reason why. And he couldn't live with himself if he disappointed Race and every other newsie over the situation.

"Brooklyn'll join the strike."

Race managed a small smile and pulled back from the hug, only to realize it was too soon. He pulled Spot back in again. Spot didn't resist at all, he didn't mind Race's affection. He could actually stand to see more of it.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. We'll be meeting in the front of Pulitzer's office tomorrow morning." Race gasped, as if not expecting Spot to give in.

"Yeah, yeah. Head back to Manhattan, you'se need to rest up for tomorrow's rally. I hope Crutchie's okay."

"Me too."

And Race was gone

-

Now that they had won, Spot was still coming down from all of the worry he had felt. He and his boys had all but lived on nothing but bread crumbs for the past week.

And now that their strike had created better headlines, everyone was able to eat.

This meant relief for him, but also the constant fear of it happening again.

"Y'alright?"

Spot looked on his left side to see Race sitting next to him on the bridge.

He bit back a smile, wondering why that was always his reaction to seeing Race.

"Yeah, 'm fine. You?" He asked, grabbing his hat from his lap and throwing it back on his head.

Race just shrugged.

Spot didn't reply, giving the other newsie a moment to decide what to say.

"It's just.. It was scary," He began. "I'se not good at handlin' everything and when Jack left, I had'da do that."

Spot nodded along, understanding where Race was coming from. "It turned out 'ta be the right decision, though," He mused.

"Yeah, ev'ryone's okay." Race said it as if he was reminding himself and not Spot.

"Ev'ryone's okay." Spot repeated, slinging his arm over Race's shoulder.

"Ya' know what?"

Spot made a noise of acknowledgment, signalling Race to continue.

"You'se not a bad ally to have in 'da strike." Race commented.

Spot resisted the urge to smile again, those words meant a lot to him. He couldn't figure out why they meant more now than when Jack, Davey, and Specs had told him earlier.

"Brooklyn's the best." Spot took the opportunity to boast.

Spot didn't see it, but he suspected Race had rolled his eyes. "Manhattan'll beat ya someday." He grumbled.

At that moment, Spot realized something. Hearing Race tiredly talk and feeling him lean on his shoulder meant something to Spot. He didn't quite know what, but it did. He felt a subtle ache in his chest when he thought about it. He wanted to see Race like this more often. Sure, he enjoyed Race when he was being a cocky little shit with a cigar between his lips, but he also treasured Race when he was honest and down-to-earth. When he was laying against Spot'a shoulder. And when his hand laid on top of Spot's.

Without thinking, Spot found himself grabbing it. "We'll see."

Race looked up, his stunning blue eyes meeting Spot's hazel ones. Spot's breath hitched. There was something so intimate when looking someone in the eye, and more so when they were inches away from your face. He focused on the deep blue that was Race's eyes.

"How's Crutchie?" He asks, hoping to get rid of any possible awkwardness before he attempted the idea forming in his head.

Race snorts, clearly finding something funny. Perhaps it was the fact the two were so close that their foreheads were touching and Spot had chosen to talk about their friend.

"Fine." Race replied anyway, not removing his eyes from Spot's. Spot had beautiful eyes, they were dark and round. Similar to that of a puppy, but if Race said that out loud he was sure Spot would push him into the river below them.

"To the strike." Spot declares, closing the gap between him using his lips.

Race leaned in to the kiss, eager enough to tell Spot he wanted it too. After a while they pulled away, admiring each other's blushing faces and matching smiles. And for once, Spot didn't even try to restrain his happiness.

"To the strike." Race echoed, leaning back in. Spot complied and they kissed again, the second just as amazing to Spot as the first.

**Author's Note:**

> Send me prompts/messages on tumblr @fordaveyjacobs!


End file.
